


Shattered

by Dragonsquill (dragonsquill)



Series: Hobbit ABCs [14]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Midwinter, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 18:31:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13036965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonsquill/pseuds/Dragonsquill
Summary: When they reached the mountain, Kili learned the truth:He was the Heir of Durin.Fili was only a lie, to keep him safe.In the aftermath, Kili must deal with the restructuring of his world.A sequel to the prompt fic "Nonsense."





	Shattered

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Nonsense](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5247713) by [Dragonsquill (dragonsquill)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonsquill/pseuds/Dragonsquill). 



The Winter Solstice that year was, by necessity, a quiet affair. With only the Company, and a handful of Dain’s most faithful warriors still in the mountain, there was no call for the great fanfare that Thorin promised them all the following year, when the dwarves of Durin’s line returned in triumph to the Lonely Mountain.

Yet Bombur and Dori had scrounged and bartered for the ingredients for biscuits and pies, even sending Nori out into the world to find what he could in settlements further than the destroyed remnants of Dale. Bofur and his kin had searched the mountain until they found candles to blaze throughout the shared dining room they had all been using – once and soon to be again a meeting room for the most influential of the mountain’s residents – and Ori had talked not only Kíli but also Dwalin into bundling against the snow and bringing in pine from the outdoors. Balin and the Oin brothers had killed a fin buck and brought it back for a small feast. The mountain, which roared in its emptiness and rumbled promises from a fortune in cursed gold was, for once, warm and cheerful. 

Only Fíli, so unnaturally quiet and watchful since Thorin had cheerfully returned the truth to him, sat alone at the end of the table as far from their king as he could. Though Ori and Bofur both included him, chatting as if nothing had changed, there was an air of such desperate loss around him that the others had slowly allowed him his circle of painful loneliness. Even Kíli-

Even Kíli, now kept constantly at Thorin’s side as a reminder of his true place in the recovered Kingdom of Erebor, didn’t know what to say to the dwarf who was, despite secrets and lies and truths that shattered his world, his brother.

But there were no words.

So Kíli sat beside his uncle, trying to smile because the Company needed him to smile, but inside his chest there was betrayal and a bone-deep sadness in the place of joy. 

Fíli should be by his side. Fíli, his brother and Thorin’s heir. 

But there was no Fíli, and Thorin assured him he would adjust with time to the idea that he was prince, and that this not-Fíli’ place was as an honored and trusted guard, not as a brother and heir to the crown.

“Did you know?” Kíli had demanded, and Fíli had looked at him, his eyes dead and answered, “I thought I had forgotten.”

The answer didn’t make sense, but Fíli wouldn’t say more to him. Instead, the brother who had always remained at Kíli’s side, watchful and loving and protective, had disappeared in the space of a single conversation. 

Thorin called Fíli “Loni” now. “Your parents chose this name for you and we will honor it,” Thorin had announced, and ordered the others to follow suit. Changing the habit of a name proved difficult, however, and instead of “prince” or “Fíli” or even the ill-suited “Loni,” the Company had taken to calling him nothing at all. 

Kíli refused to use any name other than Fíli, orders or no. But his brother flinched every time as if struck, and once snapped, “That is a dead child and not me!” until Kíli spoke his name aloud less and less, instead tucking it into his heart for safekeeping. 

“You’re forgetting who you are!” Kíli had told him as he, Bofur, and Ori escorted the young dwarf to the festivities. 

“I don’t know who I am!” Fíli roared in return, and even Bofur had looked pained and chastened, even as he refused to allow Fíli to go and hide in the mountain and avoid the feast. 

“A toast!” Thorin rumbled, standing with his mug aloft. Ale, carefully reserved since the end of the Battle, now flowed easily for a precious few hours. “To my nephew and heir, to Prince Kíli!”

Kíli wanted to scream. He felt it rise in his throat, felt his chest gasp for air, but he fought it down. He had been forced to learn in an hour a skill which had eluded him for a lifetime: hiding his feelings, and acting contrary to his heart. Instead he offered a wobbly smile and held aloft his mug as the others did. The loudest shouts came from Dain’s men, unaffected by the fissure of pain that shot through the Company.

Far at the end of the table, the blond soldier who had once been prince raised his as well.

Kíli closed his eyes and forced back tears. “To my uncle,” he managed to say, rising as well, “to the Company who reclaimed the mountain.” The shouts were louder this time, proud and strong. Kíli opened his tear-stained eyes and whispered, “And to my brother.” He wondered if he spoke of a child murdered in his mother’s arms, or to a lie of love and protection. He rubbed a wrist harshly over his eyes, forcing his vision to clear. “To Fíli,” he murmured, and tried to meet his brother’s eyes.

But Fíli was gone.

As quickly as that.

Kíli panicked. Perhaps he shouldn’t – Fíli had taken to being alone in these long weeks, working tirelessly and rarely speaking. But Kíli knew Fíli – whether or not Fíli believed he knew himself. He knew how Fíli’s mind worked, and in that moment, his heart broke.

He ran.

He’d had a little too much to drink after so long depending on water and tea, and his feet were unsteady as he tore from the room and down the dark halls. Something was wrong. Something was wrong.

Fíli had chosen a room well away from the royal quarters Thorin had claimed. Kíli nearly envied him for that – Thorin had always shown a clear preference for Kíli over his brother, but his attentions now were almost stifling. Had things been different, Kíli imagined he would have spent as much time as possible hiding away in Fíli’s room.

It was empty. 

Kíli had known it would be.

His eyes darted around the small space, looking on instinct for clothing or food or signs of life.

There was nothing.

“He’s gone,” Kíli whispered, the word swallowed into the air. “He’s gone.”

The rush for the mountain’s easiest entrance was clumsy and much too slow, and he cursed himself as he ran. Of course Fíli left. Of course he did. 

Kíli threw open the door and rushed into the falling snow. The moon was full and bright, and there were footsteps leading away from him, into the dark. “No.”

He couldn’t be too far ahead. He couldn’t. Fíli didn’t move with any supernatural speed.

Kíli rushed forward, underdressed and his cheeks stinging with cold, only to trip over a fair-sized rock in his way.

The message was tied with ancient string. The handwriting was so familiar it hurt Kíli’s heart.

_I am going home. Please do not follow. I need to do this alone._

There was no signature. How could there be?

Kíli didn’t need one. 

“Fíli,” he whispered, tucking the paper to his chest, a war waging in his mind. He could follow. He could abandon everything, and run into the dark, and depend on dwarven constitution to keep him alive until he was at his brother’s side-

Hands, strong and broad, clasped his shoulders. 

“Let him be.” 

The voice was Balin’s, but the hands were Dwalin’s.

“I can’t,” Kíli argued. “I can’t! I need him!” His voice broke on the word. He'd never said anything more true in his life.

Dwalin looked down at him and did not release his grip. “Then let him go. For now. Let him go.”

“He’s all alone!”

“Yes.”

“He needs me!” 

The brothers-true brothers but so different, no more alike in appearance than Fíli and Kíli – watched him with intense sadness and a deep understanding. “He does,” Balin said, “but not now. Now he has to find himself.”

Kili’s instinct was to glare, to fight, to kick and run and-

_Please do not follow._

Fíli was not a dwarf who begged.

Kíli didn’t stop the tears this time, turning his head and letting them freeze and break away, swirling to join the snow already hiding his brother’s footprints.


End file.
